Back to You, page 5
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Mira said to both of them while looking up at Hiram through her lashes. Hiram returned her greeting, and Mira smiled, dimples flashing. Thomas had to hide his grin, knowing Mira had a crush on Hiram since the girl was twelve.
Jackson and Isaac rolled their eyes.
Mira was the youngest of six siblings, the only one who still lived with their parents. Luckily, they were oblivious of their daughter’s desires and still let Hiram come around the bakery. Though Hiram was a good man, and they loved him as family, they wanted their daughters to marry men who would raise their social standing, even if marginally. That meant being more selective of a man of their race working in a trade.
Not a dockworker who had to contest for a day’s work or go without pay.
Commotion congregated to the podium, causing an exciting increase of chatter as someone ascended the stage. Thomas kept standing, looking over the heads of the crowd to see a wiry man shouting above the public to gain their attention. A hush fell around the Temple as the audience awaited to hear James Redpath’s speech against the abolition of slavery. Running his fingers over his muttonchops, the journalist waited for Reverend J. Sella Martin to join him. Born into slavery, Martin had come far and was a well-known black preacher in their area.
Mira sat back beside her parents. Hiram picked Evaline up to see the pair, a reverent expression clouding his features as he whispered to her about their fight for freedom.
The men barely began to speak when discorded shouts started in the front row.
Adrenaline pumped through Thomas’s veins before he could comprehend what was unfolding.
“Something isn’t right.” Thomas leaned closer to Hiram, scanning the crowd.
“What’re you thinking?”
Thomas began to spot men sitting throughout the Temple that he hadn’t noticed before. He couldn’t put his finger on why they stood out—maybe it was the hostility on their faces or the cut of their clothing that spoke of a different class.
Whatever it was, their intentions didn’t look agreeable.
Frederick Douglass pushed his way forward, intent on gaining the spot that was promised to him. Addressing the crowd, he tried to begin his speech against slavery, his broad face set sternly against those throwing out insults.
“They’re not going to let him speak,” Hiram growled.
A man in a nice coat and trousers pushed himself onto the stage.
“Is that Fay?” Thomas asked. Richard Fay was a well-known businessman who often spoke against the abolition of slavery.
“Looks like it.”
Fay had pushed Douglass to the side. “I represent the reasoning men of the North and the South!” Fay yelled over the crowd’s mixed hisses and applause, solidifying Thomas’ suspicion. These were Unionists—merchants and businessmen alike—sabotaging the meeting with their outcries against secession. “Brown was a fool! Any irresponsible persons and political demagogues are to not be allowed to disturb the public peace and misrepresent us abroad!”
Douglass tried to push his way back to the front, his big mane of hair the only thing that could be seen over the crowd that now stood up. Curses rang out everywhere. Douglass yelled over the uproar, trying to give the speech intended for the meeting.
“I cannot be heard over this racket!” Fay yelled, glaring at the dark man by his side.
“When thine enemy thirst, give him drink!” Douglass retaliated.
Men and women abolitionists began to stand on chairs, trying to center the meeting on its intended purpose, a loud chant ringing through the Temple.
“Douglass! Douglass!”
“Perhaps we should go?” Mira’s small hand had grabbed her father’s arm, fear in her eyes.
“It wouldn’t do for us to back down now, daughter,” George answered, though his tone didn’t lack sympathy.
Thomas’ attention was drawn back to Fay as he tried to say something over the praise and insults thrown at him. The front rows began to cheer for him louder, shouting racial slurs at the darker men still standing on the stage.
“Damn them,” Hiram hissed, fists clenched as he still held Evaline in the crook of his arm.
Douglass yelled louder. “… It is said the best way to abolish slavery is to obey the law. Shall we obey the blood-hounds of the law who do the dirty work of the slave-catchers?”
“Treason!”
The room burst with mixed reactions, furthering the chaos until there was no possible way for a speech. It was then that Redpath and Franklin Sanborn—a schoolmaster and known abolitionist who helped fund Brown’s raid—cornered Fay, looking as if they intended to throw him out.
Cries went up around the room, the Unionists getting more violent. Men pushed one another and screamed slurs at anyone who opposed them.
“Get off the stage!” one of them bellowed, ending it with a racial profanity towards Douglass that set off curses around the room.
“I know your masters…” Douglass penetrated the crowd with his intense stare. “I have served the same master that you are serving…. Cast aside with indignation the wild and guilty fantasy that man owns property in man, even in that stout, big-fisted fellow down there, who has just insulted me.”
“Go on—!” a merchant yelled the racial slur that had Thomas’s jaw clenching.
“The freedom of all mankind was written on the heart of the finger of God!” Douglass retaliated.
“Was that from Exodus?” Hiram asked Thomas.
“Hell, if I’d know.”
The room began to buzz like a shaken-up hive, the white Unionists turning on their black counterparts to throw them out.
Something slammed into Thomas’ side, jolting him forward. He swore, steadying Rose after her husband lost balance from trying to get a man off of Isaac. He was a scruffy white man, surprisingly tougher than the businessmen closer to the stage.
Jackson was trying to calm Mira down, dragging her back so she wouldn’t get hit, while his other sisters were being guided out of the chaos by their husbands.
Thomas hopped over the chair into the row behind him and grabbed the man by his shirt, tearing him away from Isaac.
“I had him!” Isaac spat, wiping the blood from his lip.
Thomas held onto the man as he tried to turn away. “Is this how ye treat your fellow countrymen?”
The man sneered and spit on Thomas. “Ye are a goddamn traitor to your race and your country!”
Thomas shoved him away in surprise, too stunned by the Irishman to stop him from causing trouble elsewhere.
Hiram had to pull a crying Evaline off him and handed her over to Rose.
“Don’t leave!” she sobbed, reaching out for him. Thomas’s heart squeezed as rage fueled him. That girl didn’t deserve to see this. Especially after everything she’d already been through.
Hiram whispered in her ear, placating her enough to understand he’d see her later.
“Shite,” Thomas grumbled. “Ye should leave before it gets any worse.” He nodded to George, who started guiding Rose and a pale Mira, protecting the women the best he could through the pandemonium around them.
“They can’t get away with this,” Jackson growled.
Their attention was drawn back to the stage when more shouts erupted. Douglass pointed to a man in the crowd. “If I were a slave driver and got a hold of that man for five minutes, I would let more light through his skin than ever got there before.”
Hiram went after a man dragging a light-skinned black woman out of her seat. Thomas saw her slap the Unionist when a sharp tug on his shirt pulled him back so firmly that he fell over a chair. Thomas pulled himself upright, fury flaming his veins. Isaac’s fist collided with the man’s jaw and went down.
“I had it,” Thomas said, raising his eyebrows at Isaac, who only shook his head.
“We gotta help him,” Isaac said, pointing to Douglass in the midst of being dragged off the stage.
“Feck!” Thomas shouted, already running up the aisle without thinking about the consequences.
Several men had Douglass by the arms. Thomas was almost there when someone’s elbow slammed into his nose, causing blood to spout down his chin. He roared, slamming his fist into the man’s face, propelling him forward on his way to the stage.
“Three cheers for liberty!” Douglass managed to shout.
A roar of protest met him. “Three cheers for Governor Wise!”
A new group of men entered the Temple—their black hats and long coats identifying them as the police—yelling for everyone to clear out. When people didn’t move fast enough, they were ripped out of their seats, the women screaming at being treated poorly.
“All out!”
“Blow them up!”
The shouts rang around the room. Thomas looked back at the stage, and his stomach dropped, finding Douglass being dragged down the stairs by his hair. He took a step towards him when he was suddenly cut off by a prominent figure blocking his path.
“Dia duit, deartháir.”
Thomas’s eyes focused, and disbelief washed over him. “Mikey,” Thomas rasped. “What in the bloody hell are ye doing here?” He grabbed his brother’s arm, trying to drag him away as if he was still a child. It was hard to believe Mikey wasn’t little anymore, even as a grown man nearly as tall as him. His brother barely budged.
“Stop!” Mikey shoved Thomas back. “Don’t ye see what ye and your filthy negros are doing?”
“This has gone on long enough. Go home.” He grabbed Mikey’s shirt, shoving him away so that he stumbled.
Mikey’s blue eyes flashed dangerously, the only warning before his fist cracked against Thomas’ jaw. Thomas tackled him, and they rolled on the floor before the stage, not hearing the yelling around them. Thomas sat up first, punching Mikey in the face several times before his brother bucked him off. Mikey stood up, staggering backward as blood dripped into his eye from the split in his brow.
“What are ye doing here?” Thomas asked again.
Mikey spat to the side and squinted at the policemen gaining on them.
He began to back away. “They hired us.”
“Who?” But Thomas already knew. It had been common knowledge for a while that the merchants and manufacturers were starting to worry about possible secession, and many others were impacted by stock prices decreasing rapidly. It wasn’t long before they started to blame it on the abolitionists. He just couldn’t believe his brother would team up with them. “They are just using ye.”
Mikey smiled, throwing his hands out to encompass the room. “It’s money lining me pockets. We had enough. Who gives a shite where it comes from? In me book, I’m getting paid to take them down, as I should.”
“What would Ma think of ye if she heard ye were running with a hired mob?”
Mikey’s smile faded to a scowl. “And what if I told Da that ye are running around with darkies? Ye think ye’d have his respect then?”
“I have nothing to hide!” Thomas yelled, moving so a man and his wife could get by. “And we are grown-ass men. It’s time ye start acting like one and quit this charade. Ye are better than that, deartháir.”
“Believe what ye want, Tommy boy. Ye always have.” His jaw ticked, and his muscles strained as if he held back what he really wanted to say.
Thomas squinted at his brother, trying to see the young boy who used to play pranks on him as a child. He was always so happy before they’d left Ireland.
“Clear out!” an officer shouted.
“Get off me!” Thomas turned towards Hiram’s voice, finding two officers struggling to remove his big friend.
“Go on,” Mikey sneered. “Everyone already knows where your loyalty lies.”
Thomas raised his fist, getting in his brother’s face, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “We’re done. Ye hear me? Don’t come back home. I’m done with your shite.”
Hurt flashed across Mikey’s features. It happened so fast that Thomas almost didn’t see it before a blank expression slammed down like an iron gate, closing himself off from Thomas like he had been doing for years. Mikey backed up. “Keep pretending ye are the good one, Tommy. But ye are just as rotten as me. Ye’re fooling no one.”
Thomas paled, remembering when times were harder and what he had to do to keep food on his family’s table. Mikey noticed he hit a nerve, and his sneer made Thomas’ stomach turn as he disappeared into the thinning crowd.
Thomas went to go after him, but curses drew him toward Hiram. Mikey was long gone, and he could still stop Hiram from causing any more trouble for himself.
“We’re going,” he snapped at the men holding his friend.
“Control your man, paddy.” The officer spat on Thomas’s feet but let go of Hiram. Hiram pulled his other arm away from the other officer.
“It’s not worth it,” Thomas muttered, silently praying Hiram would leave it alone.
The officers already turned away, yelling at everyone else to get out. People shoved their way out the doors, some shouting, others crying, as they all tried to escape.
A shout rang out when they emerged onto the street. It was Jackson calling them, standing off to the side with Isaac. “Where you’ve been?” He ran his hands over his cropped hair, agitated.
Hiram growled, punching the outside of the building. “Every time. Those bastards set us back. I’m sick of this bullshit.”
“Settle, brother,” Isaac said, resting his hand on Hiram’s shoulder.
“Reverend Martin said we’ll continue the meeting at his church this evening. We won’t let them win.”
Hiram stared at him, his quick breaths causing his big chest to expand quickly. Thomas watched as the words sunk in, and Hiram’s breathing began to calm.
Jackson nodded, waiting for his friend to calm down. “We’re not beat yet.”
Chapter five
Emilia
10 April 1861
The dark began to fade, pulled away slowly as if it were a veil—a glimmer of light blurring my vision.
“Is she alive?” a woman asked close to my face, who sounded remarkably Irish.
“Don’t know,” another woman answered farther away. Yes, they were most definitely Irish accents. “Any jewelry?”
Someone picked up my hand, searching.
“Don’t see none.” I thanked the Lord that she hadn’t seen my necklace yet.
“Is there a foulness about her? Maybe take her dress.”
Someone’s fingers came close to my nose, and I recoiled, blinking rapidly as shapes began to appear before me.
“See that?” the one closest to me asked. Her fingers disappeared quickly.
Something sour permeated my nostrils, and I scrunched up my face, wanting to pull away, but my limbs were too heavy. A large globe swam through the darkness. I tried to focus on it. The shape slowly turned into a face as my stomach recoiled from the travel back in time. All my senses hit me at once, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
“What year is it?” I croaked, my dry throat screaming in pain.
“What she say?” the woman farthest from me asked.
“She asked what year it is.”
They were talking to each other as if I couldn’t hear them.
“How strange. Why’d she want to know that? Daft, ye think?”
They both crouched in front of me as I finally pulled myself into a sitting position. Small stones scraped my arm and dug into my hand when I pushed myself against the building behind me. My vision was almost back to normal. I was in a dirty ally with clotheslines hanging around us. And with the sun as high as it was, I guessed it was mid-day.
“I just hurt my head,” I mumbled, not wanting to scare them. “I’m trying to figure out if I can remember the year is all.”
“She talks strange.” The woman who said that turned towards the other, ignoring me.
“What year?” I said more clearly.
“’61,” the one farthest from me answered. I eyed her, remembering she was the one who wanted to take my jewelry. Her thin face was made more severe by her dark hair tied back, revealing a long neck that dipped into a dress several sizes too big. She looked older than the one nearest to me, but I couldn’t tell.
I nodded, pretending this wasn’t a shock to my system.
“A man did this to ye, aye?” The woman closest to me leaned in close to my face, and I could smell the sourness of her breath. I tried to breathe out of my mouth and shook my head. Her blue eyes flicked between mine as if she was trying to catch me in a lie.
“She’s a pretty one.” She turned to the other lady, making her dark blonde curls dance around her head. She had it tied back, but her unruly hair seemed to escape. “Think we could use her?”
“Excuse me?”
“The men would love ye.” She turned back to me, running her hand through my dark hair. “You’re exotic enough. You’d have men in your room every hour.”
Heat rushed to my face as I realized I was talking to two prostitutes. They were dressed modestly—though their dresses were a bit worn—which surprised me. I would have expected them to show more skin.
“I’m sorry, I don’t do that.” I shook my head and cringed. My brain felt like it was slamming into my skull.
The brown-haired one came closer and grabbed my chin in her two fingers. She turned my head back and forth, scanning my face. “Ye sure?”
“Positive,” I mumbled, pressing my hand to my stomach as a new case of nausea overtook me.
Her brown eyes narrowed. “Ye with child?”
“No!” I shouted, making them both jump. “Sorry. It just must have been from hitting my head. I’m fine. Not pregnant.”
They both stared at me as if I was insane.
“Ye a virgin or somethin’?” the blonde asked. She grabbed my hands and leaned in. She did seem rather sweet, and I wondered how young she was. “Ye might bring in more customers.”
I straightened, my chest tightening in embarrassment. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business—”
